


in his favorite sundress (watching me get undressed)

by orphan_account



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Daddy Kink, F/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21518491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Stan takes you to the mall, where you overhear some kids talking about how he's almost certainly your sugar daddy, I mean, look at how old he is. You don't mean to start something when you call him daddy... well, you do, but you didn't expect to start what you did.
Relationships: Stan Pines/Reader
Kudos: 251





	in his favorite sundress (watching me get undressed)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Video Games", by Lana Del Rey.

Some part of you wishes it wasn't so played out, wasn't so cliché, that you weren't the pretty young thing on the arm of an older man. Some part of you wishes he didn't drive a classic drop-top in the echo of a Cadillac Deville, that he didn't smoke cigars, that he didn't rock that heavy gold chain and undo the top buttons of his shirt. Some part of you wishes that people wouldn't stare so much. Some part of you likes that everyone _ does,_ reveling in the tight dresses and red lips and painted nails and having to push up onto your tippy toes to plant a big kiss on him. It's thrilling, truthfully, when one of his broad hands settles itself on your thigh as you and him speed down some winding back road, the warmth from it seeping through your clothing. 

None of it really bothers you anymore, but you still remember when it did.

It was a pleasantly cool fall morning, that time of year when the weather wavers somewhere between summer and cold-as-fuck. Stan, concerned that you didn't have anything warm enough to wear (though he vehemently denied it), had driven you to a strip mall a city and a half over, promising to get you something nice. Knowing him, he was probably going to steal whatever it was that you wanted, but he was dressed surprisingly decent, with a satiny button-up that strained to hold closed at the broadest point of his hairy chest. You wondered if the top buttons were undone out of necessity, because it kind of looked it. His gold chain gleamed prettily under the overhead lighting. Also, for some reason, he had a leather messenger bag slung over one shoulder. It was attractive and looked pretty expensive and well-made, yet kind of hipster-y for Stan's tastes.

You and him so infrequently left the house together, and especially not to places where there were too many prying eyes, and so unconsciously you had dressed up a little, too. Between the worn-in red lipstick and the frilly little white sundress with an almost embarrassingly short hemline (which you swore was not that short the last time you wore it), you looked… well, _ good_. You actually would've changed out of the dress, too, had Stan not taken one look at you and started drooling. Little things like that were good for the ego, y'know? So you kept it on.

You wonder if you had worn something else that day, it would've all gone down differently.

Stan and you had strolled around the stores for a little over half an hour with no luck, and you were _ freezing_. What was it about big box stores that always made them, like, twenty degrees colder than they had any right being? I mean, sure, it wasn't like you were exactly dressed for the weather, but still. Stan, ever chivalrous (though he sure did a good job hiding it), pulled you close.

"Man," he said, with you tucked under his arm, "I wish I'd brought a jacket. Coulda given it to you and scored major brownie points, amirite?" You laughed, feeling a little punch-drunk from proximity and his familiar scent (an old cologne of his, and something else, uniquely himself). Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a group of high schoolers standing by a rack of purses, unabashedly staring.

"Jeez," one of them said, leaning over to his friend. "Sugar daddy much? She's way too young to be with him for anything but money." His friend snickered, covering her mouth with her hand. 

"Yeah, totally. Like, look at that chain he's got on. Look at what she's barely even _ got _ on! He's gotta be way loaded." They both laughed, and a little part of you twisted up and now you felt weird. Bad weird. Kind of mad, actually, and even though you knew it wouldn't be right to cause a scene but you felt like you had to do _ something_.

So you did.

Tucking yourself even closer to Stan, you slid a hand up his broad chest, playing with his chain. In comparison to the size of his bulk, you were tiny. Even better, you were wearing ballet flats, which added even less height to you than sneakers. You looked up at him with a little pout. "You said you'd get me something pretty, right?" you asked, voice purposefully a little higher, a little sweeter, a little louder, hoping they'd overhear. "Well, I want _ that,_ daddy." You pointed out an expensive forest green overcoat, made of some ridiculously soft organic alpaca wool or whatever. Except Stan wasn't looking at the coat; he was looking down at you, something wicked in his eyes.

"Say that again," he ordered, voice low and private, deep and gravelly. You looked up at him, heart beating erratically. Under your hands, you could feel his heart thrumming, too.

"...Daddy?" you repeated, hands clutching the satin of his shirt. At this point, it wasn't even about making a scene anymore. You knew that look on Stan's face, and it meant you were going to get the absolute_ shit _ fucked out of you in the immediate future.

"_ Fuck_," he said, pulling you towards the exit. "You don't even have any idea what you do to me, huh, baby?"

"Oh, I have some idea," you replied, letting him drag you out of the mall. Both fortunately and unfortunately, he had parked the car behind a building about a block over ("I don't need those god-damn mall cops gettin' ahold of my tags, 'specially not on camera," he had said). Nobody would catch you two back there, which was lucky, 'cause by the time you had made it back to the car you had a hand down Stan's pants and he was necking you like air wasn't even in the top ten of things on his mind. Finally, he pulled back, pupils blown wide. You probably looked even worse, if the red smears of your lipstick around Stan's mouth were any indication of the state of your makeup. He grinned, wiping it off with the back of his hand.

"Baby," he said, lowly, and it was like the world had shrunk down to just you and him. You could feel the deep rumble of his voice by the hand on his chest, and _ god,_ if that didn't _ do something _ for you. You backed up, eyes widening in surprise when you bumped into the front fender of the El Diablo. "You wanna be good for me, don't ya'?"

"Yes," you replied easily, though your breathing was labored. Stan gripped your thigh, hand sliding up the hem of the dress to play with the smooth fabric of your undies. You flushed, feeling the warmth of his big hand seeping through the lace. Suddenly, he pinched the soft skin of your inner thigh, _ hard_.

"Yes, _ what?_" His voice was a low rumble, and you could feel yourself getting slicker and slicker between your legs, despite the pain.

"Yes, _ daddy,_" you corrected with a gasp, squirming in his hold. Not that it was going to get you anywhere; one thick arm alone would've been enough to hold you in place no matter how much you struggled. He smiled smugly before letting his hand settle over your sex, thumb rubbing slow circles over your clit.

"And you want to make me happy, right, kitten?" he asked, still rubbing insistently. You were undoubtedly soaking now, damp patch leaking through to the front of your panties. You whimpered, weak in the knees.

"Yes, daddy." He rewarded you with a smooch on the cheek, like you were a fragile, cute little thing, like he wasn't making your brain turn into goo with clever fingers, like he wasn't about to fuck you over the hood of his car like you were some eager, cherry Coca-Cola type pin-up girl from the 50s.

"Good girl. Turn around, bend over the car." You complied quickly, without a word. Stan laughed. "Excited, huh, baby?" You didn't dignify that with a reply, and he laughed again, smacking your ass and then grabbing a handful of it, crowding closer to you. You could feel the hard print of his cock straining through the fabric of his pants, pressing up against the cleft of your ass. You couldn't help but to wiggle a little, eliciting a punched-out groan.

Stan put one broad hand against the small of your back, holding you down. "Brat," he said, with no heat. "You want this dick so bad? Tell ya' what, if you can come on it without touchin' yourself, Daddy'll buy you _ whatever _ your cute little self wants from that mall." Without any more preamble, you heard the fly of his pants unzip and in a second the hot, wet tip of his cock was rubbing insistently at your entrance, panties pulled to the side. Wet as you were, you were still tight as fuck, and it took a second for it to breach you. Stan groaned deep in his chest. You could tell he was dying to bury himself to the hilt. Still, ever conscious of you, he somehow knew when the burn of his girth was a good burn versus a splitting, painful burn and mercifully held still until you were practically begging him to _ move, please, Daddy, I need you_.

Once he began thrusting in earnest, though, any ability for coherent speech went out the window. Stan's hips smacked against you with a bruising force, cock thick enough to press up against all the right places. Bent over the car with your dress pulled up to your waist, ass out, ruched white panties on display, you could do nothing but moan wantonly into the scarlet paint job, letting him have you however he liked. You could tell you were getting to him, too, from his groans and labored breathing. 

"Fuck, doll," Stan said. "D'you have any idea how tight you are? You're practically _ virginal_. 'S like you kept yourself nice and _ chaste_, all for me." 

You pushed back against his cock in reply, _ so close _ to coming. 

"Say you're mine, honey. Tell me how much you want me," he demanded, lips pressed to the back of your neck.

You gasped, grinding back against him, so desperate. "I'm _ yours_, Stan, _ daddy, fuck, _ I'm _ yours._" You could feel him grinning against your skin. "I want you so bad, daddy, I _ need you so bad _\--" One more lewd smack of his hips on yours, his teeth biting the junction between your neck and shoulder, and you came with a high-pitched moan. Your inner walls spasmed around his cock, milking him, and soon enough you felt it twitch inside you as he buried himself as deep as he could go and painted your insides with his spend.

It was a couple minutes before he slipped out, cock soft and slick. You could feel his come start to slide out of you, hot and sticky and kind of uncomfortable and sexy at the same time. That was a problem for another time, though, and you pulled your panties back into place before looking up at Stan with a silly grin.

"So," you started, while trying to smooth down your clothes in a way that made it less painfully obvious you had just been fucked within an inch of your life. "Do we wanna talk about the 'daddy' thing?"

Stan was tucking himself back into his pants. "Nah," he said. You shrugged, and then wrapped your arms around him. What? Now that you weren't being very vigorously warmed up, it was getting kinda cold. That was the whole reason you came to the mall, anyway. He hugged you back, wrapping you up in a comforting, familiar embrace.

"Fair enough," you said, muffled by his chest. "Did you really mean what you said, though? That you'd buy me whatever I wanted?"

Stan pulled back (though his arms were still gently looped around you, and you had to tilt your head all the way up to look at him), looking kind of embarrassed. "Well, yeah. I did." And then he lit up, grabbing his messenger bag. "Actually, I'll buy you anything except this coat, which I already stole." He grinned, presenting to you the green overcoat. You laughed, leaning in to give him a kiss. It was a very Stan thing of him to do.

"Thanks, Stan," you replied. "But lucky enough for your wallet, the only thing I want is you. And this coat, I guess. It's a very nice coat."

He grinned widely, holding you close. You breathed him in, privately pleased to smell your own perfume intermingled with his usual cologne. "Lucky enough for _ you_," he said, "you've got both of 'em."


End file.
